


The Self-Unseeing

by scrapbullet



Series: Teen Wolf Drabbles [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Touch, Drabble, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Unbeta-ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Adrenaline pumps through his body; makes him feel high and strung-out; fight or flight and a strange rush of attraction that's shameful, forcing Stiles to realise how much he enjoys being handled. </p><p>Except Deucalion isn't Derek. With Derek, Stiles knows where he stands, knows he isn't really in any danger. Here? He's in the den of the goddamn wolf, and Deucalion is the kind of beast that's changeable, <i>inventive</i>, more in tune with the monster than any of his alpha pack mates.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Self-Unseeing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poemwithnorhyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poemwithnorhyme/gifts).



Deucalion has long fingers. Kinda pretty, really, given that the nails are long and deadly as fuck, the sharpened points catching at the plush flesh of Stiles' lower lip. It'd be easy, too easy, to lean in and bite down on those wily fingers - tempting, but no. Stiles doesn't have a death wish. Well, much. "Is this really necessary?"

There's a squeak of nail against tooth enamel, and Stiles grimaces. Deucalion only hums, amused, each deep-set line scored into his face emphasising a smile. It pulls at Stiles' gut, fever-hot and deep, before the Alpha even says a word. 

(Adrenaline pumps through his body; makes him feel high and strung-out; fight or flight and a strange rush of attraction that's shameful, forcing Stiles to realise how much he enjoys being handled. 

Except Deucalion isn't Derek. With Derek, Stiles knows where he stands, knows he isn't really in any danger. Here? He's in the den of the goddamn wolf, and Deucalion is the kind of beast that's changeable, _inventive_ , more in tune with the monster than any of his alpha pack mates.)

Those claws tug, one-two, slicing into skin with ease, and Stiles licks his lips; tastes blood. 

"Not at all, but you are rather stunning, for a human," Deucalion muses with a slight moue of the maw, a blatant mockery. "You have a mouth fit for... such revels."

Swallowing thickly against the fear Stiles shifts backwards, testing the boundaries only to find the threat of a claw against his throat. The pad of Deucalion's thumb presses hard into the space above the adams' apple and Stiles' chokes, jerks back and sucks in a breath. It's a minor hurt, one that is soothed with another deep little hum, rubbing back and forth over what will probably later blossom into a bruise.

"Yeah, no," Stiles croaks, heart thudding in his chest. "No revelling for me, kthanks."

"My dear Stiles," Deucalion murmurs, and his breath smells sweet as he draws close, like toothpaste and old rot. His fingers slide past Stiles' lips to press against the meat of his tongue; a promise of what is to come. "I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter. Now, _open wide._ "


End file.
